


insane, that you used to love me

by peterspajamas



Series: Half Angel Baby and Half Demon Dad [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Baby Jack Kline, Crying Jack Kline, Gen, Picnics, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Stressed Sam Winchester, also SO many bobby references, half tempted to tag him and john as characters, poor baby, the reflection is big in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas
Summary: Dean and Sam found a baby that day, when they walked into Lucifer's nursery. In the meager weeks Sam's had Jack as his charge, he's changed diapers and made bottles, but there's still something rotten in the way he's supposed to be parenting.Mostly, it's that Jack? Isn't evenhis.or: Jack’s been having a painfully upset and loud day, crying for hours. Sam takes him out for a drive and they go to the library so Sam can read books to him. But with things like this, it means a little more than just that.
Relationships: Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Series: Half Angel Baby and Half Demon Dad [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156034
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	insane, that you used to love me

**Author's Note:**

> for Jess!
> 
> hol yhell i am in a MOOD today. who knows where it came from but it's victorian and honestly fun. big thank you to milo for betaing!!
> 
> find me on [ tumblr](https://arsonsamwinchester.tumblr.com/), i take prompts for this series lol

Half the day is spent napping, for Jack. Face slack, in his Pack N Play, sleeping curled into his monkey pattern pajamas without a care in the world. Other than where his froggie pacifier is, and maybe if it's cold.

Sam wonders what that would be like. He doesn’t get great sleep, but that’s not a surprise. Anyway, nothing can be worse than when he was haunted by memories of Lucifer. 

Noisily, he bumps through the bunker stairs into the outside world. He’s been climbing for five minutes at least, and they’re only halfway up. He curses when the blanket he’s carrying drops on the floor. Jack babbles, reaching for it. “Don’t repeat that,” he mutters, readjusting the baby on his hip. He reaches up to wipe his face. “Fuck,” he whispers again. 

Sam pats at the folded Pack n Play that’s sitting on the tread, waiting for him to get started on the rest of the flight of stairs. Now, in hindsight, the idea to let Jack take his afternoon nap outside was not so good. “Just a little bit more,” he wheezes slowly. 

“Sammy? You alright up there?” 

“Yeah!” he shouts, forcing his voice into neutrality. Dean’s tried to take a step in the right direction with Jack. He’s doing okay at it.

Better than Sam. 

The problem is that he has this kind of… Sam doesn’t know what to call it. Innate knowledge? He can stumble to the kitchen half awake and get Jack’s bottle _and_ get him his binkie (apparently they’re called binkies. Sam never learned that when he was researching) _and_ swaddle him in the time it takes Sam to do one of those things. 

He hasn’t felt this shitty about himself since he was in high school and he was the weird loner kid. Jack makes a noise of complaint, and Sam gets his pudgy leg out and around so he isn’t squished anymore and he has a good view of everything. Jack likes to stare at the world, no matter how dull it is.

“I care a lot about you, Jack, but if you drop that binkie again, I’m going to have to commit murder,” he laughs, breathless, getting started on climbing the stairs again. 

Jack has dropped his binkie, his blanket, and the little barrette Sam got him for his hair. (They’re matching. And it’s actually tasteful.) That means Sam has stopped three times; another one might kill him. His hand closes around the Pack n Play and he strains forward. Only 10 steps to go. Only ten steps. 

Jack babbles into his chest again and Sam reaches the top. “Finally!” he says. “God. I’m gonna cry. That was harder than defeating the Devil, Jack, do you know that? You’re a very mischievous child and you should feel proud of yourself for making me work that hard.” 

Jack smiles around his frog binkie. It drops into the dirt. 

Sam reaches down, wiping it off. Dirt is still on it, connected to the spit. Sam makes a face. Jack mirrors the face, right next to him. “You’re not very nice,” he whispers, bending down and kissing the top of his forehead. “That’s gross, right? Icky. Don’t want it in our mouths.” 

Sam reaches around himself, burying the binkie in the diaper bag he brought. With Jack still pressed into his side, looking at the sights and sounds, and the Pack n Play in hand- God, he’s become one of those workhorse nannies, weighed down with 4 bags at once- he sets off for a clean patch of grass. They’re having a picnic, to celebrate the fact that Jack is proficient with soft foods. 

He lays out the picnic blanket, tucking the blankie- the one with the ducks on it, the one Jack loves- into the Pack n Play. And then, Sam collapses. He squints up at the sun, flat on his back, and then closes his eyes. 

“I know if I don’t watch you for 10 seconds, you’re gonna run off,” he mumbles, turning over. Jack is, in fact, running off. _Crawling_ off. Despite himself, he starts laughing, leaning over to grab Jack around the tummy and put him in the Pack n Play. 

They spend the afternoon like that- in the sun, alternately sleeping and just hanging out. Sam’s trying to coax him into standing position, but he’s not… great at it. The day itself feels like a moment set within paradise- Camelot, standing brave and uncertain in front of him. Paradise is a giggling baby, it’s the sun beating on his chest, it’s the hush that fills Sam, anxious, when he’s trying not to wake Jack up.

Pretty terrible that it doesn’t last. 

Not in a ruined way, not a burning loss. No one’s given up here; it’s just that every time the sun disappears Jack gets crabby. 

So when they reenter the bunker, his nap over, he’s already protesting. “Bad mood?” Dean raises his eyebrows from where he’s sprawled on the couch, potato chips next to him. 

Sam drops the Pack n Play, the diaper bag, and focuses fully on Jack, who is turning red with tears. “No,” he says, worrying his lip between his teeth. Every time Jack cries, he feels ill, like his stomach is just acid and rock. “Just- yeah.” 

He cringes when Jack begins to scream, crying his lungs out. Sam’s heart is racing. “Take that stuff,” he murmurs, starting to sway back and forth with Jack in his arms. His teeth ache with the noise, even more than his head does. And Sam has chronic migraines, has had them since college. 

He doesn’t _settle_ . Jack doesn’t stop. No amount of Mozart, or swaddling, or even sunshine, gets Jack to fall asleep. When Sam tries to put him in his new crib, or the little walking thingy, he starts to sob _immediately_. Like a switch flips when he leaves Sam’s arms, and the chance for tranquility vanishes into smoke. 

Sam is nearing tears, two hours later. He hasn’t been able to set Jack down. Maybe he’s just clingy, and maybe he misses his mom, or maybe he’s just upset. Teething? He rubs his forehead, gingerly sitting down. Jack is a livewire, isn’t he? Ready to lose it at any moment. 

Maybe this is how Dad felt, all those years ago, waiting for Sam to snap. 

His eyes dart to the floor, then dart to Jack’s face, still red and tearstained. He smooths a bit of Jack’s hair away from his face. “We’re going to try something new, pumpkin,” he mumbles, staggering to the door. Sam is strong; he’s just not adept at holding infant nephilims for 2 hours straight, no matter how tiny. He rests his head on the doorframe, taking a moment to just- breathe. And then he straightens, flinching slightly at the _wail_ Jack lets out when Sam begins the arduous process of strapping him into his carseat. 

He sits, jaw clenched and migraine growing, as they drive through the streets, but it has the opposite effect on Jack, who gets…. Quiet. Quiet _er_ , and slightly calm. He can still hear the shuddering, wet breaths that babies get when they are that tired, but even those are starting to drop off. 

Sam glances in the rearview mirror. Jack is _dozing_. 

Too scared to stop driving, the Impala rolls through town. It’s only when they reach the picturesque little neighborhood that Sam used to dream about that his sense returns and he stops, letting the engine rest. He realizes, God, that he is smiling. This must have been how Dad felt with him- Dad always told him, growing up, that he never shut up, always screaming. 

Colic, or teething, or the biting pain of something wrong in his blood, Sam reflects. “You about ready to go home?” he whispers. Jack doesn’t stir. 

He looks around, for a moment. That house on the corner is a faded blue, and next to it is weathered gray. They each have their own collection of bright little flowers out front. He ducks his head, ashamed for some reason. Why does he want it? What’s he going to raise in there, that’s going to belong? Nothing in Sam’s life, at this moment, would willingly enter a house just to rest. It’s always been monsters. 

Nothing in Sam’s life has ever made a home in his soul. 

“We don’t need pocket parks,” he mutters, hand hovering over the parking brake. “We have a big empty field right nearby, don’t we, pumpkin?” A smile twists his face, and he rolls away from the houses. 

They drive down Lincoln and Sam sees Snowbell Street. He stops; turns. Snowbell Street has the library on it, doesn’t it? The library. 

Marie had mentioned it to him. His forehead creases in thought as he stares at the brick building, tall, windows everywhere. He grew up in libraries. 

Huh.  
  


Does he want to take Jack in there? Sam grew up in libraries, it wasn’t fun. Had to sneak between the shelves, kept telling people _my Dad is in the grown-ups section_ , never escaped the fact that he had knowledge of the supernatural when these great buildings had only speculation. More than that is the dirty, unwelcome reminder of just how bad knowledge can be. Jack doesn’t deserve to know true-crime horror, ghost stories in the name of lore. He's unsafe enough, isn’t he? He’s hellspawn- and Sam knows where that gets you. 

Hot commodity. Sam can’t watch him get a Brady of his own, or a Ruby to take him through hell. He doesn’t know what Lucifer has planned for him. Dark things, leashed demons. A rogue angel that will break him, again and again and again. Lucifer’s got mercilessness in him, and eyes everywhere. Sam’s scared _for_ Jack. Is this how Bobby felt, accepting them into the cab of his truck and letting Sam tell him of blood on the Impala’s leather seats and the excitement- the thrill of it all? 

Sam sighs, craning his neck to see the kid strapped into his car seat. Jack is asleep, resting, the picture of exhaustion. Libraries are quiet. He thinks of Jess, asking for one more sleepless moment, and then of his 15 year old self, set to research and awful, awful tragedy. He’s memorized every terrifying detail of what made ghosts vengeful. Their purpose. What the ghosts wanted, the lives they lived, the deaths they suffered. 

The dreams of ghosts track him, hounds after foxes. He’s the one that hunted them first; Sam won’t begrudge them this. He won’t be angry at the fact that their stories follow him, whispering violent death. 

A green Volkswagen Jetta pulls into the spot beside him. He blinks at the passenger, rolling down the window. “Marie?” he whispers. 

“Sam!” She’s the one who invited him here- to the library. She’s Amelia’s old friend. “Are you coming to read? Little guy looks like he’s sleeping.” 

“Oh, yeah. He’s been fussing all day.” 

“Poor thing. Teething?” 

Sam shrugs. “We aren’t sure. I just know it’s been hell.” 

“You’re doing a good job.” He flushes, waving her off. “No, you are. Do you want to come in here with the other parents?” 

Sam puts his hands in his lap. “I don’t know yet. Is it supposed to be quiet?” 

Marie tilts her head. “Did I not tell you at the park? They get the parents to read stories. Half of us treat it as a support group.” Her body shakes with laughter. “Oh man, you’re going to love it. I remember your sense of humor, they’re going to love you. Come on.” 

Her baby, Aaron, makes a noisy complaint. “You take care of him, we’ll sit here a second longer.” 

“Sure thing.” She pivots, opening the door to her Jetta. “Aw, baby, you’re fussy, aren’t you. Here. C’mon.” She lifts him, just like that, and his tears start to fade into sniffles, move into deep breathing. “I’ll see you in there.” 

“Yeah!” His voice cracks. Jesus. 

He doesn’t want to lie and claim parentage, he isn’t Jack’s _dad_ no matter how miserable it makes him. It’s going to be embarrassing if- _when_ \- Jack starts his tears again and Sam can’t handle it. He can’t handle anything. Fraud. And overprotective. He shouldn’t go in the library. 

Inside of the lobby, it glows with the light of a single lamp. Sam makes his way through, nervously. There’s a room in the back, friendly paper signs pointing him towards it, for the _Reading Room._ Infants today, from 3 to 4. Sam slouches in, watching the movement, Jack clutched to his chest. There is nothing like the prospect of judgement to get his blood pumping.  
  
“This is Sam,” Marie says, pulling him in by the arm. A trio of people are standing- the librarian, with a name tag that reads Milo, probably the most heart-stoppingly beautiful person Sam has ever seen, and two small women. They could be sisters. “Sam, this is Milo, Ada, and Carol.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” Carol hoists her baby up, even though the sudden movement caused them to grunt angrily. 

“You too,” he says, looking at the head of hair resting easy on his chest- reflexive. Jack’s finger unfolds, reaching for Sam’s hair, before dropping. “He’s tired, sorry,” Sam laughs lowly. 

“I like the barrette,” Marie laughs. Sam reaches up to touch the tortoiseshell one in _his_ hair. 

“He wanted to match.” That’s why he also has the funky little tie dye shirt. Sam wanted to make new ones, so then he could dye a onesie but make sure the dyes were _organic_. 

“You do a good job of it. We still have a while until the meeting starts,” Marie says lightly. “I’m going to get Aaron a change.” 

Sam backs away from the group, not wanting to enter without a guide, so to speak, and flees from them, just him and Jack, just standing by the windows all alone. He stretches out slightly, the little feet of his pajamas kicking against Sam’s belly. Too asleep to move. Sam looks down to the shelves, to books he’ll probably read to Jack when he’s older. 

Libraries used to be a place solidly ruled by hunting. And _then_ he went to college, where it turned into comfort. The way marshmallows turn to ash, libraries again became haunted. He sees it now- the glimpse of dark hair just around a corner, the noisy windchimes outside, the spiderweb on the railing of the steps. They are haunted. 

“Hey, Sam, sit down, the little guy is going to get as restless as you,” Marie whispers. Behind her chair, the librarian is stationed, their hand touching her shoulder. “Stop pacing, start reading.” 

“Is it weird that the best part of my week is listening to a bunch of people read stories?” Carol muses. 

“Enriching the children in the arts is never not going to be the best part of my week,” Ada whispers. Sam barely contains a laugh, surprised by the pretentiousness she managed to fit in just one sentence. 

His enrichment in the arts was Bobby’s dusty books and the stale-smelling libraries he ate lunch in. For someone who went to Stanford… sometimes he wonders how his life had been so earnestly terrible. “Do you want to read something?” Marie nudges him, an inviting smile on her face. 

“My hands are full,” he whispers back. 

She scoffs. “It isn’t like this is formal, Sam, it’s mostly stuff I make up.” He hesitates. 

“I only know ghost stories.” 

She pats his arm. “Ghost stories are good.” Sam is anxious, walking to the chair at the front of the room, composing litanies of his past, and then he’s in the chair and watching parents milling about. Is this how Bobby felt, he thinks, walking into the grocery store with two boys not his own?

“Get started as soon as you’re ready!” Sam’s eyes flit around the room. Marie offers an encouraging smile. 

“I knew a ghost once. His name was Bobby,” he begins.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're in a kind mood, leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and concrit is welcome!
> 
> this is going to be annoying as fuck but i really wanted to explain my writing decisions since they made me happy: ghosts are obviously related to bobby, so when sam is thinking about how he knows every violent death that made them into vengeful spirits, he's also thinking about how he understands bobby. and a lot of this is meant to be a reflection on how his parenting is connected to both bobby's and j*hn's. (if it came across at all as john apologism. that's unreliable narrator sam NOT my own beliefs i fucking HATE john) he's overprotective of jack (john behavior) but also feels like he is a failure/doesn't belong with Real Parents (bobby behavior) and in fact he escapes both of these beliefs and flaws to become a good dad. obviously sam is having a hard time looking at his role as a parent so this also plays into the fact that he is taking examples from his OWN parents but not admitting he himself is a parent. he's like "im just a babysitter :)" no you are NOT you absolute LIARRRRRR you're his father? his dad. you bought him those monkey pajamas. 
> 
> if you don't let yourself embrace and love that infant child like he's your own you're going to be destroyed by your own self worth issues im not even kidding.


End file.
